


interposed

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Barebacking, Bathroom Sex, Biting, Clothed Sex, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Hook-Up, Kylo and Hux eyefuck each other from across the room, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 15:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Hux's father sets him up on a dinner date with an old friend, whom he's not all that interested in.Hedoes,however, find the stranger sitting at the table across from theirs particularly enticing.





	interposed

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea about Hux being on a boring date and catching the eye of Kylo, who lures him in for some...sordid misbehavior. I picked Krennic as Hux's date just because, he's a decently attractive fella just...perhaps not Hux's type in this particular scenario!
> 
> Kylo has a serious case of porno dialogue in this, but since it's kind of a ridiculous scenario, I felt that was acceptable.

Armitage Hux prides himself on having standards.

Sometimes it feels like he’s the only one who _does_ , especially at his work. He always wears, at the very least, a collared shirt and smartly cut blazer, as well as pants steamed free of wrinkles. He shows up fifteen minutes early, ordering ahead at the coffee shop so he can pick it up on his commute with no drama. He works steadily until the end of the shift, with no room for fluff or dawdling on streaming services or social media websites like some of his office-mates. It’s a common job at the best of times, but Hux likes to do it well.

Obviously, this methodology extends to the other aspects of his life as well. Hux maintains a clean and well-organized apartment, and doesn’t accept the introduction of mess from anyone, not even his cat Millicent, who has learned to make efficient use of her litter box and nest less on the clothes he sets out for the morning.

His love life doesn’t escape this criteria either. Hux won’t waste time sparing somebody’s feeling if he’s not interested in them, loathe to compromise his own threshold for dating and fucking for the sake of fragile egos. At the very least, anyone hoping to bed Armitage Hux _must_ have certain aspects—a handsome, shapley face, silky-textured, touchable hair on his head and, if on his chin, well-maintained. Beyond that, he prefers them larger, both in breadth and height, and well-threaded with muscle. But not _too_ much, it’s easy to over-do, and Hux doesn’t particularly enjoy men who look like they’ve had their body’s shrink-wrapped by their own skin.

But there’s more to a man than just his physical properties.

While Hux trends towards natural dominance and assertiveness in his professional life, in the realm of pleasure and pampering he far prefers somebody who can manhandle him a bit. Not to the point of denigration, no, but someone who isn’t afraid to pull his hair a bit and kiss him with a touch of teeth. By and large, he’s tolerant of all kinds, as long as they have some kind of a _bite_ to them.

But Orson Krennic? The man’s not half bad looking, for his age, but certainly far from anything Hux would consider within the realm of his “type.” Certainly not someone he would choose to go on a date with, yet here Hux sits—seated across the table from him, at a ritzy restaurant of Krennic’s choosing, nodding limply along to whatever he says.

Though Hux appreciates his aptitude for structural engineering, and has admired many of his personal projects, he doesn’t particularly want to hear much bragging about accomplishments right now. Especially since Krennic has a bad habit of redirecting the conversation back to himself and barely leaving Hux room to get his own self-lauding words in edgewise. _He_ wants to talk about his own winning prospects too, damn it.

Overall, Krennic’s not anyone Hux would have ever picked as a partner, except perhaps out of a hat. Bizarrely, of all the people to try to set Hux up, _Brendol_ had been the one to propose a night out between Krennic and his son. _Why_ , he hasn’t the faintest idea, as his father had never done anything but sneer and jibe at Hux’s “lifestyle,” so any change of heart certainly sets off alarms in his head.

Personally, Hux has already concocted a theory that it’s all a ploy to turn him off men for good. He certainly wouldn’t put it past his father, considering his obsession with propagating the family bloodline, but one bad date won’t be enough to accomplish that. Brendol will have to try a hell of a lot harder if that’s his aim. He could do a lot worse than Krennic.

Which doesn’t necessarily mean this date is going _well_. Krennic may be decently handsome but he’s a bit dull in terms of winning conversation. Honestly, Hux just wants to go home, curl up with Millicent and the World War I-era novella he’s currently parsing through, and fall asleep in his armchair. Instead, he continues to weather through the evening, sitting straight against the back of his chair and doing his best to feign interest in whatever manner of discussion Krennic is trying to start up now.

Ah yes, his job. Krennic had headed up the construction of the Imperial Bridge, which had suffered through the failure of a guide wire five days after opening to the public. No one had been killed, or otherwise maimed, but it had decapitated one of the expensive decorative statuettes lining the expressway. It’d been a whole scene in the newspapers, before gradually fading from memory, along with Krennic’s name.

Still, Hux hasn’t built any bridges lately. He supposes that’s impressive.

Hux looks down at the empty plate before him. He had a large lunch, so he isn’t particularly hungry, but he could amuse himself picking at _something_. Alas, they’re still waiting on appetizers, so Hux has nothing better to do until they arrive except dwell on his dissatisfaction.

He thinks the navy blue suit and crisp porcelain shirt he picked out for the date is wasted on Krennic, who dresses in all white from toe to tip as if he thinks himself some kind of narcissistic auteur who practically _demands_ to catch the eye. But Hux isn’t all that impressed, and in fact he’s almost waiting for Krennic to accidentally spill a drop of that syrupy pinot noir all over it, if only because it would spice up what’s amounted to a fairly uneventful evening thus far.

Hux rests his elbow on the table and couches his chin in his palm, practically feeling his corneas numb as his eyes glaze over. He lightly agitates his glass of wine in the other hand as Krennic’s voice drones in his ears. He’s never been much a fan of reds, preferring the steely dryness of a good Chablis. But really, he vastly favors hard alcohol, and would’ve ordered a Cynar and Scotch if not for the fact that any excessive drunkenness would be reported to his father come morning and swing back around to bite him eventually. It’s ridiculous, especially considering Hux is a grown adult and _Brendol_ isn’t exactly the paragon of temperance and abstention. But he and Krennic _talk_ , Hux has heard them talk, which is precisely the reason he’s acting so tight-lipped on this date, and practically _dying_ for it to end.

“But what about you, Armitage?” Krennic finally addresses him, perhaps noticing he’s dominating the conversation. “What have you been up to recently? Your father keeps me informed on your general welfare, of course, but I’d prefer to hear details from the man himself.”

Hux just barely resists wrinkling his nose. The last thing he wants to do is think about what _Brendol_ might be saying about him when he’s not around. He knows well enough how disappointing his father finds him, and if _Hux_ knows then surely his father’s closest friends and associates must’ve already heard an earful.

“Oh you know, Orson, I keep myself busy,” he says, tilting his wine glass, more interested in watching the syrupy red than drinking it, though alcohol might help liven his mood. “I’ve considered returning to my graduate studies recently. I’m sure my father has mentioned it.”

“I don’t think he has,” Krennic says, nodding along. Of course not. Hux is making up the entire thing just to fill the conversation. He won’t tell Krennic any of his _real_ aspirations. “What kind of degree are you planning on?”

“Finishing my engineering masters would be ideal. Civil.”

“Ah!” Krennic’s eyes light up, smile white as his suit. “Following in my footsteps, huh?”

Actually, Hux plans to pursue the aerospace sub-discipline once he’s good and ready, but he’s learned not to speak up about it. Brendol considers anything beyond the sphere of the earth’s atmosphere a waste of time, insisting there’s little practical application to be had, at least within their current lifetimes. If Brendol had his way, his son would be designing tanks and planes for the military. Instead, Hux works a milquetoast cubicle job, partially out of spite.

“I suppose you must’ve had a subtle influence on me,” Hux drones on, “we’ve known each other for so long. It was probably inevitable.”

“So when would you start classes?”

“Well, I said _considering_. I still have to secure the finances if I want to go back to school.”

“Of course, I see. Well, should you follow through, there’s always a space for you at my company should you need it. And excel the requirements, which I’m sure you will.” Krennic tilts his head appreciatively. “You’ve always been a smart boy.”

The way his voice lowers just a little bit on the end of his sentence has Hux’s stomach tightening a bit with anxiety. Certainly, a part of Krennic must enjoy younger partners, as he agreed to the date despite the difference in age between them exceeding two decades. Typically, Hux doesn’t mind how old his partners are as long as the performance measures up, but he’s already not feeling particularly inclined towards Krennic, and the idea that the man might be unduly fascinated with his youth doesn’t help. Still, he nods with a polite smile, hiding his lips in his wine glass before it can falter into a grimace, eyes angling to the right in hopes to spy their waiter.

It’s then that he notices someone staring at him over Krennic’s shoulder.

At first, Hux plays it off as accidental, as even someone as focused and stringent as himself knows what it’s like to zone out and stare off into space, but as he meets eyes with the stranger, he doesn’t realize what he’s doing and pull awkward away, but instead continues to look, unwaveringly, right at him. Hux parts his lips a little, surprised, wracking his brain to try to figure out whether he recognizes this stranger, but nothing rings a bell.   

Hux can’t think of a single individual amongst his acquaintances and coworkers that looks nearly this handsome.

He glances away for a moment, back to his still mostly filled wine glass, a little put off by the stranger’s unexplainable intensity, but eventually his eyes drift back. Hux finds the man still looking at him, and despite the energy in his stare the rest of his expression looks rather relaxed. He doesn’t seem angry in the way he’s scrutinizing Hux, rather the slightly raised eyebrows and tilt of his head gives him an expression of interest, as if he’s some alluring and enigmatic painting the man is trying to make sense of.

Hux almost feels the same way, suddenly intrigued by his unexpected admirer. When the waiter finally arrives with their appetizer and distracts Krennic for a moment, Hux takes the opportunity to inspect the man at the other table further.

His face is odd, a bit uneven and roughly hewn in places, but Hux has never felt a need for perfectly symmetrical, bland handsomeness. He has quite the striking bone structure and a profile that looks as if it could scour lines in stone. His skin might be pale in the daylight, but with the muted lamps of the restaurant, it glows a ghostly amber.

He wears a dark leather jacket, worn down to brown at the seams and cuffs, punched with bronzed buttons along the lapel and collar. Beneath it sits a black, or perhaps dark charcoal dress shirt, unbuttoned to show off the strong lines of his collarbone and the hinted definition of his chest. His hair falls about his face in untamed locks, like the shadows of tree leaves rustling against the pavement. And his eyes—bespoke with a deep, tumultuous intensity that’s so curiously focused on Hux.

He cradles a heavy, stemless glass in one strong hand. Hux wonders what he’s drinking. The transparent amber color of the liquid, glimmering thanks to the single lit candle on the table, is encouraging—he likes a man who can take his alcohol straight, untainted by any sickly-sweet syrups or frivolous garnishing. It might be fun to taste good Scotch on another person’s tongue for once.

Hux stops himself, eyebrows furrowing. He returns his glance to his empty plate, a little ashamed. _Really_ , what’s he doing, eyeing another man like this? The stranger’s probably waiting on his own date, an old friend,  or perhaps a business acquaintance. There’s endless, more reasonable options, and Hux knows he shouldn’t jump to the conclusion that every random man who happens to look his way has an interest in him. After all, he’s not a foolish schoolboy with spades of infatuation to toss around.

Hux tries to refocus on whatever Krennic is saying—something about unconscionable tariffs on construction materials—but despite this he finds himself periodically letting his eyes drift back in the direction of the other man. Each time, Hux finds him staring back, only glancing away once to wave off a waiter asking if he’s ready to order.

He absolutely looks out of place amidst a sea of nondescript couples dressed in at least the bottom rung of business-formal, and if he’d been clipped from another reality and inserted into one he had no reason to attend. But no one, either amongst the guests or waitstaff, brings up his improper clothing nor casts an interested glance his way. In fact, it seems like Hux is the only one looking at him, and he looks at _Hux_ as if there’s nobody else in the entire dining room that matters. It sends goosebumps crawling along his skin and heat beading underneath his collar.

Of course, it’s more likely that Hux is just projecting. It’s easy to tack all his wants and desires onto this stranger, this man who’s happened to catch his eye, when he’s so weary of his actual date. The fantasies he conjures up as he glimpses the man above Krennic’s shoulder are far more invigorating than any possible outcome of the night, not that Hux had ever really considered going home and letting his father’s choice in mate bed him. He hadn’t even planned to give Krennic a perfunctory kiss when they parted.

But this stranger? If he was Hux’s date in lieu of Krennic, he wouldn’t hesitate. He would let the man drag him home and do whatever he wished. Hux would kiss and bite and wrestle and let himself be fucked with no second guessing.

It’s been a moment since Hux has had a capable lover, so perhaps that’s why he’s fixating so much on this blank slate of a stranger. He has all the physical characteristics Hux enjoys best, with the added bonus of plasticity, his fantasy molding any potential personality quirks into those he would find most palatable. The latter is less relevant, though. Tonight, Hux feels he’d rather have a good hard fuck than a lengthy, revelatory conversation.

Hux fiddles with his napkin, rubbing the soft linen between his fingers, imitating the way his thighs squeeze together beneath the table as he imagines what the man might feel like pressed up against him. He looks large, barely fitting into the delicate nest of the dining chair. He must have an enormous cock, though Hux has been fooled before. Not by a man this broad, however. Hux almost wishes he could see through the other table, to either confirm or deny his suspicions.

How _dirty_ , to even consider the idea, but this little, nonverbal affair fills Hux with a sense of excitement he hasn’t felt so far this evening, on this dreary excuse for a date.

Smart as Krennic is regarding his architectural work, he’s apparently a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to recognizing facial cues with much nuance. At the very least, he doesn’t seem to notice the way Hux is eyeing the man over his shoulder and conjuring all kinds of sordid fantasies in his head, far more concerned with his own monologuing about the latest project, an aqueduct on the western seaboard, apparently mollified by the occasional agreeable murmurs and nods coming from Hux as he picks at their appetizer. Some kind of carpaccio topped with microgreens, an attempt at a more rustic presentation. That’s a hard sell, with all the besuited waiters and multi-hundred dollar bottles of wine nestled in the rosewood rack near the kitchen.

Hux isn’t all that interested in the food anyway, preferring bland and functional meals even when he’s in the best of spirits. What’s more, it’s hard to find shrimp cocktail and bedecked mac n’ cheese all that titillating in comparison to his strange new paramour.  

As Hux continues to furtively watch him in between reluctant nibbles of food the man slings his arm over the back of his chair, stretching out the shirt over his chest and giving Hux a proper glimpse of the size and shape of his pectorals, and _heavens_ does he want to get his hands on them. He wants to grab his shirt, with its buttons already straining, and pull it apart, reveal that chest in all its delectable glory. He wants to feel that mighty heart beating against his own as the man pushes him down, showing off just how much strength he keeps restrained. Hux wants to be responsible for a lapse in that restraint.

The stranger hoods his eyes slightly as he brings his glass to his lips to take another sip, though they occasionally flick up from the siphoning alcohol to Hux. His lower lip, already wet and slightly pink, cradles the underside of his glass as he drinks, and through the kaleidoscope sculpt of the base Hux can see a flash of teeth and a peek of tongue. He wonders if this is the first drink, the second, the last? A man of that breadth and height could probably swig with the best of him, though like the question of his cock, size doesn’t always equate tolerance. Hux, for example, is of slender build but he knows he can hold his alcohol in a pinch. Though that backfires a little bit when he _wants_ to get drunker faster, as he does right now. Krennic’s presumably covering the meal, perhaps he should chance and ask for another glass of wine, or flatter his way up to an entire bottle—though surely it’d be more of this detestable, headache-inducing red.

The man finishes his drink and settles it back on the table. Hux can almost hear the ice cubes _clink_ , melting. He watches the pair of lips—much plusher and pinker than those of any man he’s ever seen—and nearly gasps when the tip of his tongue drags, slow and purposefully, out between them.  

Hux barely suppresses a moan. Interest _burns_ in his groin at the sight, at all the untold possibilities inherent in that flick of lips, and a part of Hux feels disgusted at his readiness, at the fact that he’s so willing to hop into the lap of a stranger while already engaged in a date. His father would sneer and call him loose if he knew, mourn the loss of the Hux lineage as his only son frittered his time away riding cocks and indulging in life’s most ignoble pleasures.

“Armitage?”

“ _Hmm?_ ” Hux dazedly turns his attention back to Krennic, who he realizes is looking at him expectantly, perhaps a bit offended.

“Is something the matter?”

“Oh no, Orson, not at all. Apologies, I was just thinking of an encounter in a coffee shop I had earlier,” Hux lies, knowing better than to admit his ogling of someone else in the middle of their date. Krennic isn’t nearly as quick to anger as Hux’s father is, but he’d rather not test him. An argument would, at the very least, be an even more tedious waste of his time than this dinner.

“I see. You know, you’ll save a lot more money making it at home. I won’t trust anyone but myself with my coffee any longer.”

“Right, who knows what they’re putting in there,” Hux replies dully. He supposes he should at least keep up perfunctory conversation with Krennic lest he suspect anything further. _Drat_. And he was having a lot more fun with this stranger. Hux’s shoulders slump slightly, trying his best to pay proper attention to Krennic as he resumes his monologue, apparently satisfied with his response. Resignation sinks into Hux’s chest as he pokes numbly at the entree salad the waiter sets before him, and it only grows more despairing when he chances a glance above Krennic’s shoulder but finds no intense stare meeting his eyes.

The man is gone, much to Hux’s initial disappointment, but after a moment he realizes there’s no checkbook standing up on his table or flaps of bills left to pay for his drink. Surely that means he’s still here, somewhere? Just departed momentarily—or perhaps on purpose. Again, speculation turns in Hux’s head, his hope and interest renewed. Perhaps he’s meaning to _lure_ Hux away from his date, to a place where they can finally be alone together. Leaving all initiative to him, should he be brave and foolish enough to take it.

Hux shifts in his chair, antsily rooting the fork through his salad. He glances sidelong at the empty table and bites the inside of his lower lip. _Lord_ , is he reading this wrong? Just letting his fantasy warp all rational thought?

No, he can’t be. That lick of lips, the intensity in the man’s eyes, the twitch of his pecs beneath his thin shirt—Hux isn’t delusional. That had to be intentional. The man knows how much Hux wants him.

The departure undoubtedly is an invitation, and Hux is tottering on the brink of risking it all and accepting it. Hux’s fist clenches against his thigh, closing his eyes for a brief moment, but all that greets him is a flash of enticing, muscular body and come-hither stare. It’s hopeless. He opens them back up.

_To hell with it._

Fuck Brendol, and fuck Krennic too. Fuck this whole set up. Fuck respectability and virtue, and social mores. Hux has wasted too much time not going after what he wants.

“Excuse me Orson, I must use the restroom,” Hux says hastily as he stands up, loathe to miss his chance with the mystery man. Krennic startles at his suddenness, wine nearly sloshing out of his glass and onto the front of his suit, but Hux has more alluring distractions now than the possibility of his date soiling his outfit. He forces an amicable smile in Krennic’s direction before walking off, trying to trace the path of the man. If he’s still inside the restaurant, then he must’ve gone to the bathroom. It’s the only place with any sort of privacy in the establishment.

He really hopes he’s right, that the stranger hasn’t been teasing him only to bow out just when it’s about to get good.

Hux’s heart is hammering in his chest by the time he gets to the bathroom, fully expecting to find his mystery man waiting for him on the other side with open arms. However, when he pushes the door open, he finds the bathroom deserted and all the stall doors ajar. Hux frowns, dejection settling in. _Alas_.

He sighs, dragging his fingers down his chin and shaking his head. _Fool_. He should’ve never got his hopes up.

Hux’s shoe scuffs against the floor as he moves to turn and leave, only for his shoulder to knock into something firm. He starts, breath hitching in his throat when strong hands seize his upper arms and keep him facing forward.

“ _Shh_ ,” a voice crawls on the back of his neck, hot and dewy exhale ruffling against Hux’s cleanly shaven hairline, “don’t move.”

Hux obeys, something in the man’s voice compelling him to do so. His heart hammers in his chest, a groan held back behind his lips. The something firm from before, now identifiable as the man’s bulging chest, the one Hux had so admired in the dining room, presses up against his back, pecs framing Hux’s shivering shoulder blades.

“You’re a tease, strawberry,” the voice continues, and Hux feels the tip of the man’s nose brush up his neck, towards the little nook below his ear, “if I wasn’t the forgiving type, I might’ve gotten pissed off.”

The words themselves sound foreboding but his tone is amused. For whatever reason, the man seems confident enough no one will enter the bathroom, accidentally spoiling their little tryst. Hux has less assurance, his blood pumping nervously in his ears at the very _thought_ of someone witnesses him in such a compromising position, but oddly enough that uncertainty is adding to the thrill of the whole situation.

 _You’re really terribly filthy, aren’t you?_ The little voice in his head, that sounds like what Hux would’ve been if he’d grown up entirely like his father, pipes up, but he breathlessly squashes it back down. To hell with composure and propriety, sometimes he just wants to be fucked raw and dirty by a complete stranger, and that’s _fine_. He’s a god-damned _adult_ , he pays his own bills and plans to finance his own education and if he’d rather consort with reckless, rugged men in the bathroom than tolerate a date his father set him up on, he’ll do as he pleases.

The stranger braces one hand against Hux’s belly, feeling his breath quicken as he walks him forward, from the doorway over to the nearest stall. Hux stumbles inside as the metal latch slides into place, trapping him with the stranger.

Not that he’s all that unwilling to be trapped.

Once they’re locked away from any prying eyes, Hux finds himself turned about then pushed against the door of the stall. He grunts softly, eyelids fluttering at the rough impact against his back. Before he can say anything, a word of encouragement or protest, the stranger crowds into the already scant space between them.  

The man’s lips mash against his, instantly prying them open and invading through with his tongue, and _oh_ yes Hux can taste it, that unmistakable peaty smoke of a good scotch. The stranger has an appreciation for excellence Hux can respect.

And his kissing technique isn’t half bad either.

Hands press his wrists against the stall door as the man devours Hux’s mouth, urging their bodies together. He trembles at the feeling of those firm pecs against his chest, just as full and lovely as he envisioned them. Hux still wants to grope and massage them, but well—that’ll have to wait, as his hands are currently pinned.

Eventually the stranger tires of kissing and pulls away. Hux whines and tries to chase his lips, only for the man to turn him around by his hips and push him back against the bathroom door. Hux’s cheek rubs up against the cool metal, gazing back at the man out of the corner of his eye as he again presses close, this time rubbing his groin against Hux’s ass.

He’s _huge_ , if the eager bulge in his pants is anything to go by. Hux’s mouth already waters, and if they had more time and space he thinks he might like to slowly worship the stranger’s cock, get on his knees and lovingly unsheathe it from his pants, lave his tongue along its length and toy with its head before taking it all the way to the back of his throat. Hux knows how to properly suck a cock, how to breathe through his nose as the need to please takes precedence over the freedom of his windpipe. The stranger looks and acts like a man who would love a nice, wet throat to fuck, and Hux would absolutely let him use his if it meant getting his mouth on his delectably massive member.

Tragically, they _are_ locked in a bathroom stall with limited time, so Hux will have to settle for whatever the man decides to give him, but when he hears the jingle of his belt he can’t be too disappointed.

“Do I get your name, before you fuck me?” Hux turns to look properly over his shoulder, waiting until the man lifts his head, eyes latching with Hux’s below a cascade of hair. This close, Hux can pick out nuances of brown in the wavy locks, matching the ring of umber around his pupils. He’s even more attractive without two tables and Krennic separating them.

It takes a moment for him to get a response, as the man starts to instead busy himself with Hux’s dress pants. But just as he’s about to give up and accept his undoing by a nameless stranger, he leans in and noses against the back of his ear.

“Kylo.”

Hux snorts.

“Really. An alias, is it?”

“Does it matter if it is?” The man says, fingers brushing over the growing bulge in Hux’s pants. “Most men I meet like this call me Kylo.”

“Ah. Very well then, _Kylo_ ,” Hux chuckles, “I hope that you live up the fantasies I’ve been entertaining all throughout dinner.”

“Could say the same thing about you,” Kylo mumbles against his throat. Hux feels him sniff, and that should revolt him, but it makes him melt. Kylo licks his lips.

“You smell differently than I imagined you would.”

On the contrary, Kylo smells exactly as Hux had anticipated. Sporadic and cocksure sprays of woodsy cologne over his extant, natural musk. Hux wants to bury his nose in it, to find the spots of Kylo’s body where it collects in intensity. He suspects it to be the middle of his pecs, or perhaps the inner meet of his thighs. He wishes he had the luxury to worship every inch of this man’s body, to see if it matches up with his fantasies. He’s sure it must, what with the way that thin shirt and tight jeans hang on for dear life around him.

Hux notes Kylo didn’t even bother to ask him _his_ name before resuming groping him. Of course. Just another random, serendipitous fuckhole to this miscreant, is that it?

Not that he can complain much—he’s using Kylo at least as much as he’s using Hux.

His belt jingles as large fingers fidget with it, eventually getting Hux’s pants down to the point where they hang just below the curve of his ass. His pulse hammers in his throat as he swallows, Kylo’s hand cupping one cheek through the soft material of his underwear.

“You’re even fuller and softer here than I imagined,” Kylo whispers as he gives Hux’s ass a firm squeeze, before stroking the faint paisley patterns with his thumb, “slim little thing like you, it’s a nice surprise.”

He’s never been complimented on his rear before, but it’s a little nice. He’s had enough knocks against his physique for a lifetime, it’s refreshing to find someone who can actually appreciate him—even if Kylo’s only saying it because he wants to get laid.

Not that Hux thinks he’s going to have to worry about that.

Hux’s underwear soon joins his pants, leaving Kylo to freely caress his bare skin. He lets out a reedy moan when one of those thick fingers slip in between his cheeks, curious, its tip soon brushing up against what he’s looking for. Hux tries to suppress his instinctive reaction, but despite himself his entrance twitches in response. He hears Kylo smirk.

“Do you want lube?” The pad of his finger presses flat against Hux’s hole. “Or are you loose and ready enough for me to just go in?”

Hux creases his brow, biting back his instinctive response. For as much as he _wants_ Kylo to rip into him and _take_ him, his blood hot and pumping from the rough treatment dealt his way thus far, he knows logically a bit of prep might stave off a lot of pain come tomorrow.

“Just a bit. Not too much, I—I don’t mind the pain.”

Kylo hums in approval, skating his lips over the shell of Hux’s ear.

“ _God_. Really picked a good one.”

Hux wonders at his wording, whether their meeting like this had been merely a happy coincidence or if Kylo had _planned_ this, at least in part. It’s a little odd, to think of the man purposefully spying on people’s dinners in hopes of spotting someone both bored and attractive enough to give him a chance, but Hux likes the idea of being _chosen_. Of being wanted, _craved_ like a cigarette or burn of fine whiskey. Of being hunted and stalked and taken.

Hux splays his thighs as Kylo undoes his belt and lets his slacks fall just below the curve of his ass. His insides squirm in anticipation as he watches Kylo slick up his fingers with a thin film of lube before dipping his fingers down between Hux’s cheeks. They push towards his hole, drawn to it as if by a magnet. Like he intimately knows Hux’s body though the two of them have never met before, much less consorted with in such a way.

“Couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you. Svelte little red-head. Been awhile since I’ve found one of those, and the last wasn’t near as fuckable as you look.”

One of Kylo’s fingers presses up against his hole, but instead of stopping and rubbing it like last time, he starts to shove the tip inside. Hux’s lips curl in pleasure at the feeling, and he chuckles softly through his gradually laboring breath.

“So...you decided to...chivalrously brighten my evening?”

“You looked so damn bored. I had to.”

“You...make a habit of luring people away from their dates?” Hux shoots back, but playfully. His heart is beating so quickly, it’s hard to keep his voice steady. Especially with a finger almost as large as some unfortunate cocks he’s taken wiggling its way inside him.

“You’re wasting your time with a man like that,” Kylo murmurs against the back of Hux’s neck, sending butterflies down into his stomach, “even if he had the guts to take you back to his place tonight, do you think it would be at all satisfying? Do you think he could fuck you the way I can?”

Hux has never been fucked by the man rutting up behind him, but even so he knows the answer.

“I—I would never let him have me,” he defends, rutting his ass back against Kylo’s fingers, “I _do_ have some standards.”

“And those standards include this?” The man slaps his free hand against the stall door. “Getting railed in the bathroom of a classy joint by a complete stranger?”

“I’d rather spend the night with _you_ than him,” Hux says, and he’s a little surprised at how confidently he replies. He’s sick, isn’t he, preferring the purely carnal company of a stranger than a boring yet safe night with one of his father’s acquaintances. It’s undeniably slatternish, but he can’t help himself, especially not when Kylo reaches around to stroke his cock and work a rolling moan out from between Hux’s lips. His loins flutter, agitated by the attention to his most sensitive spots but practically _dying_ for more.

“Do I need to ask about a condom?” Kylo spreads his fingers as wide as they can go inside of Hux. “I think I already know the answer.”

It’s been so long since Hux has felt the warmth of another man spill inside of him, properly fill him up. He knows, rationally, it’s a mistake to place so much trust in a complete stranger, but he can’t stop himself from replying:

“You do.”

Because _damn it,_ he wants to feel everything Kylo wants to give him.

Hux clenches his hole when Kylo removes his fingers with a wet sound, trying to preserve that sense of pressure until he replaces it with his cock. His heart is pounding, pants and underwear down to his knees now, his dress shirt rucked up nearly at the waist. He tries to keep still, waiting, as he listens to the noises of Kylo readying himself behind him—the _clink_ of a belt, tear of a zipper, a soft grunt as he works the last of the lube from his sullied fingers against his shaft.

“Ready?”

Hux feels he doesn’t have to nod, so instead he arches his back forward and perks his ass up at Kylo. He spreads his legs, keeping himself as open as he can for Kylo as he molds his front to his spine, root of his cock briefly sandwiching between Hux’s asscheeks before he takes it in hand and directs it towards his hole. Hux feels his cheeks heat, a little grateful he’s facing away from Kylo so he can’t see just how much he’s flushing. His face tends to get rather obscenely red with any sort of exertion, blood flooding through his translucent skin like the smallest possible bit of dye dropped in water.

Still, a dirty little thrill runs through him at the first press of cock against his ass. Oh _Lord_ , Kylo is just as huge as Hux thought he’d be. He needs that inside of him, ripping him apart, post-haste.

It doesn’t take long for Kylo to start pushing inside of him, his hand squeezing Hux’s hip with increasingly pressure as he goes deeper. He hadn’t been wrong in his estimation—Kylo is _huge_ , far bigger than any cock Hux has taken so far in his life.

Nevertheless his hole stretches to accommodate the man’s girth, with no other option but to do so, and Hux is forced to feel every last, extraordinary inch as it sinks inside of him. He grits his teeth and rubs his forehead against the door of the stall, tips of his toes turning instinctively inwards at the overwhelming sensation of pressure and warmth penetrating him. He hears Kylo breathing hotly behind him, nearly feels the swipe of his tongue out over his lips. They’re so close, he can feel firm pectorals pressing up against his shoulder blades, twitching with anticipation as Kylo seats himself well within Hux’s ass, the nest of hair around his cock bristling up against his skin.

“You fit like a glove.” Kylo thumbs at the clef of Hux’s asscheeks, spreading one out to catch a glimpse of the way where his cock meets his hole.“You’ve been sitting pretty on this tight ass all night, tolerating that bastard. _Longing_ to get me inside of you.”

Hux shivers, because Kylo is _right_. Ever since he locked eyes with him, he’d been yearning for an encounter like this. He’d never believed it would actually happen, though. It feels like a burning, pervasive dream. Or a pornographic film.

But no, it’s really happening to him, and it’s all he ever wanted. And Kylo knows it.

“How does it feel to have your fantasy realized?” He licks hotly against the side of Hux’s throat and bites him, working the sensitive flesh between his teeth.

Hux’s first response is a messy, weak mewl, before he manages to recover his voice and eke out:

“G-Get on with it then!”

Kylo needs no further prompting. He roughly pulls his cock out of Hux’s ass before slamming his hips forward, rebounding the hapless ginger against the stall as he quickly works up to a vicious pace. It’s quick but deliberate, ensuring Hux feels every sliding inch of his cock as it whips in and out of him, rocking him between his bulk and the unyielding door. Kylo jacks him off brusquely, hand moving in time with his hips as if they’re rigged on the same stimulus in his brain, quickly driving any coherency Hux has left into mush.

It’s that _good_. Better than any he’s experienced in so long, most likely _ever_. Kylo fills him so thoroughly, reaching some deep pit of satisfaction never before breached by any man. Hux clamps tightly around his cock, greedily hoarding it inside of him as long as he can as Kylo rolls his hips and thrusts it in and out of him, as if wanting to impress its size into Hux’s body forever. He clenches his fists against the bathroom door, lips wet with need for more, his ass bucking back against his partner’s powerful body.

“Hold on,” Kylo suddenly _stops_ , cock half inside, the hand on his hip gripping tighter, and Hux is about to go _mad_ , scream and smack him and _demand_ he continue, when he hears the sound of footsteps and stills as well.

“Armitage?” A clear voice calls over the creak of the bathroom door. “Are you in here?”

It’s Krennic. Hux’s heart leaps in his chest, anxiety suddenly clenching through him as he goes silent. Oh _hell_ , if Krennic catches them, both he and Kylo will reap the consequences. His father will find out within the hour, and he’ll never live it down, he’ll be branded a thankless slut in Brendol’s eyes for the rest of his miserable life—

Hux cringes, struggling to keep quiet and not alert Krennic to what’s going on, even as Kylo starts to shallowly rut inside of him once more. _Is he crazy?_ Hux tries to look over his shoulder, but Kylo’s hand knots in the hair at the back of his head and shoves him silently back against the door.

“Armitage?” Krennic calls out once again, a little softer. Beneath the bathroom door, Hux can see long shadows cast over the faux stone flooring.

Kylo continues to fuck him, even with Krennic no more than a couple feet away at most, as if unaware that the only thing separating them from him is a partition of stainless steel. Hux bites at the loose skin near the base of his thumb, repressed tears squeezing in the corners of his eyes as Kylo grips his hip tighter. He seals his lips over the nape of Hux’s neck and digs his teeth in, almost like he _wants_ Hux to break the silence and alert Krennic to their presence, what they’re doing here.

Hux wonders what Krennic would do. What _Kylo_ would do. Would there be a fight? Does Krennic even have the stones to stand up and try to take him back, resume the date that’d been so grossly interrupted? Hux has almost forgotten about the man’s white suit and how amused he thought he’d be to see it defiled. Perhaps stains of blood would look even better than wine.

Yet despite the pace of Kylo’s thrusts and the arousal building deep inside of Hux, he manages to keep quiet, and after a couple annoyed huffs from Krennic, he hears the door swing shut over the diminishing sound of footsteps. A chuckle crawls up the back of his sweating neck, followed by a kiss, a whisper laden with smirk.

“Looks like you really are _all mine_ now, strawberry.”

Kylo grabs one of Hux’s legs under the knee and lifts it up against the door, biceps bulging with strength, and _hell_ Kylo could just lift him off the ground and fuck him like that if he wanted to, couldn’t he? He could split Hux in half, fill his belly with come and leave him limp and sore and _sopping_ , make him submit to his wild, bestial needs over and over again. And Hux would go willingly with this man, this stranger who he’d just met and knows nothing about, just for the privilege to get fucked this way once again.

The change in position spurs Kylo to pound Hux into the stall door even harder, rattling the hinges with each thrust. _Surely_ someone must have heard the commotion inside the bathroom by now, but it’s hard for Hux to muster much care. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway? Getting kicked out? As if Hux minded leaving a restaurant he didn’t even particularly care for. He can’t mind much at all right now, as Kylo fucks the last of the conscious thought and inhibitions out of him.

One last, rawly desperate moan vaults from Hux’s lips as he climaxes, splattering the shiny steel of the bathroom door in streaks of cum. His legs go weak, trembling at the thigh and numb in the hips, but the bulk of Kylo’s body keeps him supported up against the wall, his fingers clutching almost painfully against his bare thigh. Hux pants against the foggy steel, vision tattering and blurry at the edges, almost as if he’s drunken, on the verge of a blackout. He swallows a few times, before resting his weight back, against Kylo rather than the door. He slowly lowers Hux’s leg, hands now more fondly roving about his body as he mumbles at where his disheveled collar barely clings about the flush of his neck.  

“You’re perfect, strawberry. Just perfect.”

Hux has never been overly fond of nicknames—all of them either deleterious insults from his classmates or mocking condescensions of his father—but he likes to hear Kylo call him that, with such partiality and hunger. He lets out a soft, pleased hum, tilting his head back on his boneless neck and feeling Kylo kiss over the bites on his throat. He shudders as the gradually softening cock shifts inside of him, disturbing the frankly remarkable amount of cum left inside.

“Wish I had a plug to keep all of that in you,” Kylo purrs, delving his fingers in between Hux’s asscheeks, to find where the two of them still join, “I’d make you keep it in for the rest of the night. Force you to sit on your ass in polite company and pretend you hadn’t been fucked to hell and back mere minutes ago.”

“You’re...you’re absolutely filthy…” Hux groans, not all that offended at the idea as he perhaps should be. It’s almost a sorrow when Kylo finally slips out of him, and he tries to clench his ass to keep his lovely, satiating release in as long as possible. He’s a bit disappointed in himself when he has to reach for a square of toilet tissue to wipe up the absconding trickles.

“ _You_ followed me here,” Kylo grins when Hux finally turns back around to face him, dark amusement in his eyes and the smirk on his lips that shows a bit of teeth almost convincing Hux of the merits of a second round. But Kylo’s already hid that monstrous cock of his back inside his pants, and Hux’s heart falls, only to jump a moment later when Kylo leans in to kiss him on the temple.

“Don’t be a stranger, strawberry. I’ll see you around.” The lips against his skin mumble, leaving a touch of wetness and lingering warmth when they leave, and Kylo unlatches the door and slips past Hux. He stands, a little stunned and flustered from the encounter, before pushing through the door in hope Kylo has lingered, maybe to fix his hair in the mirror or rinse off his hands, but no—he’s gone.

Hux quickly fixes his pants and belt as he steadies himself on his feet before striding over to the sink. He grabs the edge of the counter, fingers trembling slightly as he glances at his reflection

The man looking back at him in the bathroom mirror is practically unrecognizable to the one who had first entered it. Collar pulled open, blazer and dress pants wrinkled, hair stuck up in places like a cockscomb. A litany of bruises along one side of his neck, nibbled in red and undoubtedly faded to bruise in the coming morning. Hux touches them, remembers how Kylo’s mouth had felt against his skin. He presses his groin lightly against the edge of the counter, nipping his lower lip before pushing away.

Now that the heat of the moment has passed, Hux should probably feel a bit guilty, or at least ashamed of how he’d snuck off to fuck a stranger in a restaurant bathroom. Surely Krennic will report to Brendol about how his son ditched him, _humiliated_ him and stuck him with the check for a fairly ritzy meal. That’s unavoidable. Still, he thinks he’ll wear the marks on his neck with pride come tomorrow, welcome any comments on them, no matter how scathing. He’ll carry the memory of the night with him, to keep him warm and lustful whenever he might feel too alone to bear it.

Hux flattens down the wrinkles in his suit, passing his fingers through the jet of water beneath the faucet and primping his hair back into place. It’s probably enough to get him out of here without any unnecessary questions for the wait staff. If Krennic’s still lingering, he’ll need their help to make his escape.

Finally satisfied, Hux buttons up his blazer and opens the bathroom door, heart still high in his chest, mind still smoldering with pleasure.

Who knows. Maybe he’ll run into “Kylo” again one of these days.

**Author's Note:**

> Oftentimes I find writing modern AUs a little bit easier. I love the canon setting, it just often takes a lot more brainwork and conscientiousness about the world building!
> 
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


End file.
